


"Let Me Guess: Antiquers?"

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Being Dean, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Human Castiel, Humor, Humorous Ending, Implied/Referenced Sex, Investigations, M/M, New Mexico, Sam Is So Done, Sexual Humor, Which is Where the Sexual Humor comes into play, antique store, mention of hunter husbands bc i love them, working a case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Dean groans before Sam can finish, “Again. Great. Who are we anyway, friggin’ Ghost Adventures?”A town in New Mexico with population smaller than Sam's weekly calorie intake. Local obit runs a piece on a man whose death is ruled accidental after a ceiling fan he bought from a place boldly named 'The Antique Store' fell on top of him while he was sleeping. Cursed object, possibly. Or vengeful spirit of the object. Whatever attachment a ghost would have to a fan, anyway.It's a slim case, but it beats watching reruns of Cops all day.





	"Let Me Guess: Antiquers?"

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! Just dropping in to say that this is based on a real experience I had at an antique store recently. Luckily, the shop owner was cool about it, but it still spooked me. You'll see what I'm talking about.
> 
> Also, I surprisingly haven't written a fic where the boys work a case. :o It's been five years I've been doing this too, just keep that in mind. :P
> 
> And yes, the title is inspired by the quote by the old butler guy who said that to the bros when they checked into that creepy Inn. I dunno, I love that episode, so I remember that very vividly. That and Sam and Dean being mistaken for a couple is classic Supernatural.

 

"You want some liver? Mine's freshly chopped."

"Oh, c'mon, Sammy," says Dean, pulling Cas closer into his side. The ex-angel, who, for a limited time only, has shed his trenchcoat for a few layers of Dean’s borrowed flannel, blushes the color the sun is naturally giving their cheeks, even though they're safe under the awning of the little shop of potential horrors. "Besides, consider it a chance to scope out the place. Who knows, maybe you'll meet someone."

"Sure, if I dig _Maude_ ," Sam scoffs, "Seriously, Dean. We’ve seen who runs these antique stores."

"Now you're just being picky."

Rubbing the bar of his large nose, Sam sighs, "Look, you know if something's going on in this one, the owner's not gonna just fess up. We're probably going to need to—"

Dean groans before Sam can finish, “Again. Great. Who are we anyway, friggin’ _Ghost Adventures_?”

A town in New Mexico with population smaller than Sam's weekly calorie intake. Local obit runs a piece on a man whose death is ruled accidental after a ceiling fan he bought from a place boldly named 'The Antique Store' fell on top of him while he was sleeping. Cursed object, possibly. Or vengeful spirit of the object. Whatever attachment a ghost would have to a fan, anyway.

It's a slim case, but it beats watching reruns of _Cops_ all day.

They already hit up ten other antique stores in the same town. Some foreclosed, some open. Typically, those foreclosed are easier to get an EMF reading. As it turns out, people don't like you taking readings in their place of business to rule out a possible homicide by ghost, even if you’re on supposed “official FBI business”. Shocker. So the boys tossed their suits and traded them for their regular flannel. Old school undercover: Being themselves. Because after the Leviathan incident, they pretty much erased themselves from the virtual map.

"You know," Cas chimes in, "I can always aid you two in your questionings.”

Both brothers laugh in unison.

"What?"

"You know I love you, Cas,” Dean says, squeezing him tighter, “but remember what happened with the case in Oklahoma City? With the widower?"

Cas's cute little head tilt he does straightens out. “But you said it yourself; I was a hunter in training."

"Hey, don't quote me to me," scoffs Dean, "I was the one who saved our asses."

"Besides," Cas says, continuing on despite Dean's objection, "I've been reading up on law enforcement etiquette since I've been going on more cases, and I realize my mistakes. I was too rash, too hard..."

" _Yeah you were_ ," Dean growls into Cas's ear loud enough for Sam to gripe, "Okay, just no. Cas, Dean's been hinting that he wants to have sex with you, _again_ , like you guys did two towns over. And Dean, just stop being so gross. If you really can't leave each other's sight for more than five minutes then come in with me. Just promise to be on your best behavior.”

Dean blanches. "How did you know we were having sex?”

"Seriously?" Sam shakes his head. "We've been squatting in motel rooms long enough to know they all have paper thin walls, Dean."

"And to be fair, Dean, you were very vocal when I—"

"Okay, definitely _no_ ," Sam snaps, interrupting Cas's add-on. "Are you guys coming or not?"

Dean shrugs as he pulls apart from Cas, much to Cas's chagrin. They step into the shop, Cas first so Dean can hold the door for him. It chimes good-naturedly, and closes just as Sam’s coming up behind him. He scoffs behind the two lovebirds, who turn their attention to the balding middle-aged woman at the front desk reading what looks to be an erotica novel, completely straight-faced.

“Afternoon,” she rasps, trying to push out the pack of cigarettes she inhaled earlier. “Can I help you boys?”

Sam looks to Dean. The elder Winchester bites his lip before glancing down at his and Cas’s intertwined fingers—something that’s come instinctually for them a few months ago after Cas received his first pair of stitches from Sam: “Yes, um… maybe you can end our little debacle. My boyfriend and I are new to town and we’re looking for a ceiling fan for our new apartment, but he wants to go with a mahogany. I’m thinking about installing a brass fan, because I think it would look great against the—”

“Brass will tarnish. Wood is your better option, but knock yourselves out,” the owner interrupts sharply, pointing upstairs before she picks up her book again. “All our fans are up there. We should have a good supply of mahogany. Fans aren’t too popular and they’re a bitch to pack.”

“Really?” Sam says, making his way to the counter. “I mean, it’s the dead of summertime. People are bound to come looking for cheap fans, right?”

The lady shrugs, and then starts to nod. “There was one man who bought a fan here a couple weeks ago. Don’t remember his name. We get a lot of people in here.”

Sam narrows his eyes as the silence in the shop reverberates off his ears. “Right… um, so this guy that bought the fan, was it—?”

“Mahogany,” she answers, turning to Cas, who’s listening intently to whatever Dean’s whispering in his ear, “same as Blue Eyes’ taste over there.”

“Have you gotten any complaints about them?” asks Sam, then corrects: “I mean, like, anything faulty or… unusual about the fans?”

The shop owner drops her head. “Same thing I told the cops: Nothin’ special about that particular model. We get a bunch of crap in here on a daily basis, but we don’t sell faulty products. The original owner was even decent enough to include the bulbs. Course they expired by the time someone bought it. Plus, even if we did do returns, I wouldn’t be hearin’ people gripe about goin’ cheap. We ain’t Home Depot. No offense.”

Cas throws his head back when he sees her look in his direction, then shakes his head. “Um… no, none taken.”

Sam looks to Dean again, tilting his head and pursing his lips. Dean meets his gaze and shakes his head. “Honey, why don’t you scope out the fans?” he says to Cas. “I’ll meet you up there.”

“Right… yeah, sure… honey.” The pet name rolls off his tongue the same way frozen dough rolls off a pan, but Dean’s not complaining when Cas makes up for it with a chaste kiss to his lips.

“You know,” the lady says as Cas starts to ascend the stairs, and, with the way the bright, milky light streams from the upstairs window and hits Cas’s front, it’s like he never lost his wings, “you two are cuter than the other couple that come in here regularly. One’s a white guy with a bald head and mean-lookin’ face; the other’s got a big nose and a crazy lookin’ goatee. They’re big on flannel, too.”

Both brothers’ lips turn up in a smile. New Mexico. Of course.

“I guess we’ll just have a look around then, if it’s not any trouble,” Sam says, to which the owner shrugs again.

A few minutes pass of Sam and Dean perusing the shop, and then a loud crash upstairs occupies the silence downstairs. Both boys jump, hands stilled on their guns before Dean remembers and turns around with a chuckle, because that’s certainly _not_ what he meant when he said he wanted to bang Cas upstairs, “Cas, you klutz! Am I going to have to carry you all the way—?”

Dean stops just short of his tease to find Cas standing behind him, equally perturbed.

Sam, who’s behind _Cas,_ releases a large sigh, “Looks like we might have a case after all.”


End file.
